


Underground

by helloearthlings



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Criminals, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, F/M, Lawbreakers, M/M, Magic, Magical Community
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-02
Updated: 2013-12-08
Packaged: 2018-01-03 05:47:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1066576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helloearthlings/pseuds/helloearthlings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a society where magic use is a prominent feature of the world, those gifted with the highly illegal craft are killed more often than not. When Arthur's estranged half-sister, Morgana, reappears in his life after years away, Arthur is sucked into a world of magical activities, prison breaks, magical street gangs, and a sorcerer named Merlin who knows more than he lets on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> The first installment of what will surely be a Long and Epic fic. Hope to get at least a few people interested.

When Arthur arrived home from work, Morgana was seated at his dining room table, stiletto-cladded feet kicked up on the ornate and expensive upholstery, throwing crisps into her mouth, appearing as if she had been there for hours, just waiting for his return.

Arthur had the immediate urge to bolt as soon as she turned her hawk-like gaze on him. Shockingly enough, he didn't act on the impulse. Instead, he just stood and gaped, briefcase thudding to the floor in an undignified manner.

Taking a step inside and nudging the door closed with his foot, he stared at her uncomprehendingly, a thousand questions at the tip of his tongue. One popped up above the others, however. "How the hell did you get inside?"

"Honestly, Arthur," Morgana rolled her eyes as she pulled legs into her and off the counter. It seemed that the five years they had spent apart had done nothing to improve her manners. "Did you really just ask that?"

Arthur scowled as she waggled her fingers at him. He had nearly forgotten – Well, no, it was impossible to forget that his half-sister was a bona-fide witch – But it was hard to reconcile the magic that could be used to choke a man without so much as laying a finger on him could also be used for the simple task of unlocking a door.

"Well, what are you doing here?" Before she opened her mouth, Arthur posed another question. "And where exactly have you  _been_ for the past five years?"

"What, can't I just have a social call with my estranged half-brother?" Arthur glared. She relented with the smirk dropping from her features, which was nearly as surprising as her actually being here in his apartment. "Alright, fine. I need your help."

"Of course you do," Arthur threw himself into the chair across from her. The table, like most of the possessions in his flat, was far too big for the use of a single person. The overwhelming loneliness of the empty place got to him sometimes, especially in the years he'd spent without even Morgana for company. He'd accomplished, for the most part, ignoring the feeling. "Of course that's the only reason you'd ever come to me again."

"Well, what else did you expect, Arthur?" Morgana's eyes flashed in momentary anger. "You made your stance clear. You sided with Uther, picked him over me. You knew exactly what was going to happen."

Arthur felt a bubble of guilt in his stomach. He didn't tell Morgana that he had spent many nights regretting that decision, but always came to the same conclusion; that there was  _no_  choice, none at all. But he knew that she wouldn't listen to a word he said if he started that argument up, so he didn't. "What makes you think I can help?"

"You're the only person I can turn to right now," Morgana said quietly, not meeting his eyes. "Just hear me out, Arthur. Don't call the police. Please."

The use of the world please stopped Arthur from making mental plans in his head for how best to get rid of Morgana without actually tattling to the authorities. Or their father. But Morgana never asked politely for things; she took, sometimes greedily and with an overabundance of force. For her, saying please was swallowing her pride, an absolute last resort.

He knew that he had to at least listen.

"Okay," he said slowly, and she almost smiled at him, gratitude shining in her eyes. "I'll listen to you. But you better tell me everything – The whole story, Morgana. No ifs, ands, or buts about it."

"I will," she said, her face changing to one of pure determination. Was the story really that hard to get out? Arthur began to dread the next words coming out of her mouth. The tale was already horrible enough as it was without having to hear what had come next.

Morgana had always been different. Even when they were just children, there was something off about her. Something in her eyes that warned of an impending storm.

The metaphorical lightning strike happened when she was thirteen, Arthur fourteen. Morgana, who had always suffered from nightmares, burst into Arthur's bedroom at half past three in the morning, sobbing and half mad. Arthur had shushed her and, although it was something he hadn't done since they were five and six, held her as she cried. Through her jumbled speech, she managed to tell him that she had visions; visions of the future that, according her, nearly always came true. And in this particular vision, she saw a throng of people killed in front of her eyes. And not just people; all those killed were sorcerers. And Morgana had been forced to watch.

With a father who was the single-most prominent man in all of Britain that persecuted those with magical abilities, Arthur felt truly scared. Uther Pendragon was relentless in his cause and would no doubt throw Morgana into prison. He wouldn't care that she was his daughter; all he would see was the magic and the evil it brought. Not to mention the stain on the family name, forever tarnished with Morgana's bloody blow.

In those first few days after the event, although he told Morgana he would never tell a soul, he couldn't help but doubt in her so called visions. She probably just had an overactive imagination and a penchant for drama, Arthur reasoned. There was no hard evidence that she had the gift of magic.

His delusion lasted an entire week; it was on Sunday that, while being driven home from their school by their personal valet, they were stopped in a huge traffic jam on Hackney. There was a riot swarming the streets ahead of them and, looking out their tinted windows, both Arthur and Morgana saw a group of police officers shooting at a small gathering of people in the center of the chaos.

Magic users.

Arthur had turned to Morgana, who had tears tracing her cheeks.

He had resolved, in that moment, that he would always take what she said seriously. Always.

He never told Uther what he had learned, and Morgana would never mention her visions unless they pertained directly to Arthur. She would occasionally warn him against mundane things, like not going to school on the day the east wing burned down, or advised him on which university to choose. But they never spoke of her gifts, especially not in-depth.

Arthur wasn't afraid of her, despite all of the warnings about sorcery's evils that were drilled into his head by Uther. It was only his little sister; sometimes devious, always irritating. She wasn't a bad guy, she couldn't help that she saw the future. And that was all she did. She didn't have the capability to  _hurt_ someone with her magic.

Arthur's world shattered on Morgana's eighteenth birthday.

He was home from university for holiday break; his father, in a rare show of family togetherness, had insisted on spending the holidays with his children. Morgana, in her last year of school at the time with her birthday falling two days before Christmas, was decidedly against it. While Uther had no idea of her powers, what he did know was that Morgana was headstrong, rebellious, and completely against his principles.

Arthur was constantly warning her about attracting too much attention, but as always, she ignored his advice, choosing instead to go her on path. He had hated leaving her behind for university, but he reasoned that speaking to her on the phone once a week would be reassurance enough that she hadn't gone dark side on him.

Today, he both regretted his naivety and was deeply jealous of it.

She had gone out with a few of her friends on the twenty-third, promising to be back by midnight. Arthur had offered go along – Morgana, lame as it sounded, was his closest friend, even after their six months apart – but she had rebuked him, saying that she'd spend time with him and Uther the next day, that this was just a celebration with her mates.

That should have been a sign that something was wrong.

Arthur, luckily, had the foresight to wait up for her, and was suspicious when one o'clock passed without as much as a text from Morgana. Playing the concerned and overprotective brother, Arthur made the decision to go out to the pub she had given as the address where she would be spending her celebratory evening. Uther, who had arrived home from what appeared to be a strenuous day on the job, insisted on accompanying him to fetch her. It seemed that Morgana had broken curfew one time too often for his liking.

Arthur should have told him to stay home, but he didn't. He didn't do a lot of things that night.

Arriving at the pub, the bartender said that he'd seen someone that fit Morgana's description headed out their side door a couple hours earlier. Arthur, Uther a few strides in front of him, immediately followed the man's gesture to the back alleyway.

What they saw there would be ingrained on Arthur's mind for all of eternity.

Morgana, expression a feral grin and eyes a molten gold glow, holding a man twice her size up against a wall. Except that she wasn't even touching him; the man's feet were off the ground by her pure will, magic pouring out of her as the man, huge and hulking, was reduced to a sobbing and screaming mess. However, his screams were becoming strangled as Morgana, hand held aloft, squeezed her fist. She was choking the life right out of him.

Arthur had just stared in horror as he felt bile rise up in his throat. Had Morgana's magic always been this violent or was this a new development that had happened since he left? Either way, he felt guilty as hell.

Uther, on the other hand, stopped dead in his tracks. Morgana's eyes focused on them for a mere half a second before processing fully that Uther saw her. She dropped the man to the ground of the alley immediately as their father hurled insults and profanities at her. She had never looked more terrified in her life as she turned to Arthur pleadingly.

But Arthur was frozen; Uther would most definitely condemn Morgana to death. That was the sentence for anyone who harmed another with sorcery; just the possession of magical powers was enough to get a person locked up for life. And Uther would never let Morgana go clean, his own daughter or not. And if Arthur stood with her, Uther would show no mercy to him either.

As Uther raged and ranted about terrorizing the family name, Morgana cut in angrily, eyes flashing their ordinary green.

"I was born like this, you utter fool! You never noticed it all throughout my childhood. Not even once. I could see the future since before I could walk. And this man here," she kicked a high-heeled boot at her victim, unconscious on the street, "tried to rape me. What else was I supposed to do, just stand there and take it? I hurt him before he could hurt me. What's the crime in that, Uther?"

Uther, furious, began to speak again, but Morgana wasn't finished.

"I won't let you take me, you know. I'll run and you'll never be able to find me. I'm too good for that. I've been practicing my gifts; I can get away from your pathetic police force."

"You will do no such thing," Uther snarled.

"Watch me," Morgana hissed back. Her eyes changed again as she looked to Arthur, who had remained silent for the entire exchange, afraid to say a word. But he knew exactly what Morgana meant when her eyes were soft around the edges. She was asking him.

_Come with me._

It was the single longest moment of Arthur's life. Morgana stood there, begging him silently while Uther was none the wiser to the near treachery of his son, still focusing on the sins of the daughter. A war waged in his head. If he went with Morgana, they would be criminals, on the run from the law and their father. That wasn't even mentioning the fact that Morgana had kept overwhelmingly large secrets from him for months, possibly years. How could he trust her?

But if he stayed with Uther, he would never see her again. She would be gone, a ghost. Was he really ready to give up on Morgana? And if he chose her, was he really willing to give up on his father? His career? His life?

Almost imperceptibly, Arthur shook his head. Morgana's shoulders drooped, but her eyes nodded in confirmation. Determined and fiercely angry once more, she turned back to Uther. "Don't come after me. Or I will kill you. Don't think I can't do it."

She strode past them, stalking back into the pub where she would most likely head out into the London night, gone from them forevermore. Uther stayed still, heeding Morgana's words. It seemed that he was going to give her a chance; maybe he had an ounce of fatherly affection somewhere within him.

Arthur's life changed that night. There was no more Morgana, and the rift between he and his father became irreparable. Arthur's career took a swerve as well. Uther had always wanted Arthur to become a lawyer specializing in anti-magic cases. Arthur had always felt vaguely disgusted at the utter disregard the professors and students in the more magic-focused classes had for sorcerers, and his experience with Morgana and what magic had done to her life made him never want to have contact with anything even remotely magical ever again. Seeing as how he still liked the actual law part of the courses, he still kept that part of his career. He just took cases that were strictly homicide, no sorcery about it. Just plain, stone-cold, mortal versus mortal murder; it was oddly comforting, in a way.

He hadn't had any direct encounters with sorcerers since. Morgana barely crossed his mind – Well, that was a lie. A day didn't go by without him worrying about her, which, according to his father, was a horrible way to look at her crimes. She was a rogue sorceress who had a death sentence on her head, and therefore deserved whatever she got.

Seeing Morgana now, though, Arthur felt a slew of emotions he had ignored for years rushing through his veins. Her appearance was different, of course; there was quite a gap between the ages of eighteen and twenty-three. Her features were fuller, her midnight hair long and messy and dressed in a risqué black lacy dress that would make him shudder if she wore it in public. Apparently, the older brother gene never quite wore off. Her eyes were the same though, a brilliant green framed in black, now gazing at him with the slightest bit of apprehension.

"Are you sure you want to hear it all?" Morgana studied him, probably pinpointing his changes in the past five years as well.

"Get on with it," Arthur told her with dread. He couldn't help quickly glancing at the door leading back out into the hallway; no one ever visited him, but he was a worrier. He couldn't help it. And if someone saw Morgana...Well, he wouldn't think about that. It was highly unlikely.

Morgana started to speak, and Arthur came to complete attention. He did not want to miss any of this.

"After I left," she started slowly as she broke eye contact with him to stare at the wall behind him. "I fell in with a woman named Morgause up in Cardiff. She was a magic user, and a damn good one. She taught me almost everything I know about sorcery. The two of us were close; we traveled together. But she was captured and later killed while we were in Spain. That was two years ago."

"How close were you?" Arthur found himself asking, as Morgana's voice had gone from controlled to slightly pitchy during the part about Morgause's death.

"We were lovers," Morgana said flatly and Arthur winced. He had known that Morgana slept with both men and women; he'd known it since she was sixteen. And she'd known that he was gay since about the same time, so it had never mattered to either of them. But she had never been serious about anyone, regardless of their gender, and to have their first real relationship end in death was a fate that no one should have to suffer.

"I'm sorry," Arthur said, awkwardly reaching across the table to pat her shoulder. It was the first time he had touched her, and it warmed him slightly. It seemed to do the same for Morgana, who gave him a small smile before continuing.

"After that, I went to New York City. There's a group of us there, all on the run. We all help each other out. It's like a family. There are even a couple people living with us that aren't magic users," Morgana explained.

Arthur was unexpectedly hurt over Morgana's insinuations of the sorcerers being like her family –  _he_ was her family, not them – but she kept talking before he could ponder it further.

"Kind of wished you were there, you know," she said, still refusing to meet his eyes. "It sounds quite pathetic, but I really did miss you."

"I missed you, too," Arthur sighed, glancing down at his hands. The guilt was coming back in threefold.

"But the people that were there – are there – they were amazing," Morgana sighed wistfully. "If you did decide to help me, we would be heading there. You would be safe, I promise. None of them would ever hurt you."

"I'd be  _going there_?" Arthur regarded her with shock. "Morgana, I can't. I have a life here, I can't risk it."

"A life here?" Morgana snorted, gesturing around. "Arthur, you live alone in a flat that's too big for you. You work as a lawyer and you hate it. Don't try to argue with me," she said as Arthur opened his mouth to argue with her. "You hate it. I looked up some records before I came; you haven't won a case in months. And I'm willing to bet quite a bit of money that you haven't gone on a date in just as long."

Arthur would have yelled at her for being a presumptuous bitch that was dead wrong about everything she had just said, but he couldn't. Mainly because she was right. He wasn't happy, he hadn't been in years. His job was exhausting at best and he had given up on dating after university. He barely even had any  _friends_ , for crying out loud, just coworkers or mates from uni that he hadn't seen since graduation.

"Well, I don't see why you need help," Arthur less than tactfully changed the subject. "It seems like you're doing well for yourself. You've got your new family."

"Are you jealous?" Morgana lifted an eyebrow. Arthur scoffed but didn't respond, which spoke legions. Morgana smiled in victory before becoming subdued once more. "The thing with them is, most of us are wanted somewhere in the world. And one of them, Freya, she…well, the police recognized her when she snuck out to get groceries one day. She's being held at a facility there until they decide whether to send her to prison or kill her. They have no proof of her hurting anyone, but they're trying to dig something up from when she was growing up in Scotland."

"This is all very depressing," Arthur said with a touch of sarcasm, even though the situation was quite sad. The girl, whoever she was, didn't deserve to die. "But what can I do about it?"

"Come to New York," Morgana supplied. "Convince them to get her transferred to London."

"How the hell can I do that?" Arthur asked, incredulous. "I have nothing to do with her situation."

"Tell them that you're looking for me and that you have reason to believe that we're on the run together," Morgana said. "We – our group – can falsify some shots of the two of us together. Just say that you've been searching for me and want to have Freya brought in for extensive questioning in London. It's done all the time with other magic criminals; family members looking for their sorcerer children or siblings. It wouldn't be hard. And we could break Freya out when she's being transported to the airport."

Arthur didn't want to ask how much thought had gone into this plan, how much research had been done. And how Morgana knew all about how the anti-magic legal and police branches worked. So instead he spoke up again, "You really care about her, huh?"

"I love everyone there," Morgana said. "I love them so fucking much, Arthur. They took me in when I was broken. They helped fix me. I'd do anything for them. And Freya is one of my best friends in the world, Arthur. Please."

Arthur sighed, studying her pleading expression. This could ruin his life; the career he'd built, the relationship with his father. Once more, just as it was five years previously, it was time to make a choice. He could choose the same thing again; go the safe route, avoid confrontation. But seeing Morgana again, knowing that he let her slip from his grasp a second time…

"I'll do it," he decidedly, almost impulsively. "I'll do it."

Morgana's eyes shone brightly as she reached across the table to hug him. It was awkward, he thought as he put his arms around her slender frame. But that was only to be expected. They had a world of differences surrounding them now.

But she was his sister, and no matter what, that would never change.

As they broke apart, she said "If everything goes according to plan, you might not even have to spend a week there. You could get away clean."

Arthur already knew that getting off scotch-free was a long shot, but Morgana looked so elated, he couldn't help but smile with her. Even though this was undoubtedly the beginning of the end, he couldn't help but grin along with her.

At least, if things did go south, he'd be going out with a bang.

* * *

  


"I don't know about this."

"Shut up, Arthur, as long as you don't act like you're guilty, they won't think you're guilty."

"And is this the advice that you live on?"

Arthur regarded Morgana doubtfully as the crowded airport terminal bustled around them, filled to the brim with rushed and harried travelers. As they hurried off to catch their flights, Arthur leaned against a metal pole at the start of the hallway that headed to the security checkpoint, Morgana semi-hidden behind it. It had been three days since Morgana had arrived unannounced into his life once again, dragging him into this mad magical debacle. He had booked two tickets to New York online the day previously – ("Book them on different cards," Morgana had hissed into his ear. "And make sure that the seats aren't near each other.")

Arthur was slightly dubious about their plan to get out of the country. He, of course, could easily hop on a flight and get to New York easily, even if he had to explain his mysterious sporadic vacation to his boss and his father. His boss had understood and given him plenty of time off, but Uther had been skeptical of what on earth could hold any interest for Arthur in America; however, he still hadn't asked too many prying questions, just accepted it as one of his son's eccentricities.

Morgana, on the other hand, would be a difficult case. If she was an ordinary criminal, Arthur would have said that getting her on the flight would be damn near impossible. But apparently one of her wizard friends had stacks of fake identities that the members of the group had used on more than one occasion. Arthur hadn't learned much more about his sister's company for the past few years; she'd been rather sparse on details. He would meet them today, though, so he didn't push it too far.

"This looks nothing like you," Arthur glanced down at the ID that Morgana had handed him when he'd asked for reassurance that their law-breaking escapade wouldn't end when it had barely started. The woman in the grainy photo was blonde, for one thing, her features far narrower and pointed than Morgana's own, with a slightly larger shoulder frame.

"What about now?" Morgan's head peered out from around the column – but she barely resembled herself. She was, however, the carbon copy of the girl on the identification in Arthur's now slack hands.

"Morgana!" Arthur gaped, waving a hand behind him at the throngs of people surrounding them. "What the hell? Anyone could have seen you!"

"No, they really couldn't have," Morgana waved a hand dismissively, the fingers slightly longer and thicker, nails not nearly as immaculate as they looked without magical help. "There's a thin veil that slightly obscures us from the public eye. It works on security cameras, too, so no need to worry about it from that end. We're still able to be seen, just in people's peripheral vision. Like we're barely even here."

Arthur, although relieved that they weren't dead in the water, still felt oddly violated. "Don't use magic on me. Not without at least telling me first."

"Fine," Morgana snorted under her breath. "Magic prude." Arthur glared. "Can I at least take the enchantment off so that we can get on the plane?"

"Promise me that you won't use any magic after that?" Arthur asked. "Not until we land."

"Alright," Morgana rolled her eyes in a long-suffering way. This was hardly fair, seeing as how this was her idea in the first place, and it would be her that would be killed if there was a flaw in the plan. Arthur would just be jailed for life.

Surely, it was a happier alternative.

Murmuring an incantation under her breath, Morgana took off at a rapid speed down the hallway and toward the airline security. Arthur, resisting the urge to curse loudly, followed her at a more moderate pace. They had planned to arrive at separate times, after all, so as to make certain that there would be no viable connection between them.

Arthur, pushing through a group of chattering German tourists, arrived at the security checkpoint, presenting to the guard both his driver's license and ticket. He could see Morgana slightly ahead of him, stepping through one of the metal detectors with a couple of watchful eyes on her. He let out a sigh of relief knowing that her identification had been solid enough to make it through without a problem.

By the time Arthur, who, as expected, had zero issues, had made it through the vigorous security process, Morgana had vanished once again, probably heading to the gate on her own.

By the time Arthur went through six different sections of the crowded, bustling Heathrow to make it to his gate, C-14, the plane was already boarding. He hadn't glimpsed hide or hair of Morgana since she had disappeared on him and was only semi-anxious to find her once more. Shuffling into the winding line leading to the aircraft, Arthur craned his neck, catching a quick look of the blonde dishwater hair that Morgana had charmed herself with disappearing down the passage leading to the airplane. Her ticket had cleared as well. Arthur gave a silent sigh of relief.

His own ticket, of course, was not a problem. He even got a respectful nod from the dark-haired woman working the counter at the sight of his surname. Uther Pendragon was a household political name in Britain, so it only stood to reason that Arthur would be recognized. He wished he wasn't, for the scrutiny the woman surveyed him with was not the most comfortable of feelings.

Hurrying through the jet way, clutching his carry-on bag (well, only bag, Morgana insisted they pack light), in his white fist, he did his best to appear an ordinary passenger. Which, for all intents and purposes, he was. Smiling at the pretty blonde flight attendant that greeted him warmly as he boarded, he entered the carrier.

He had booked himself in first class and Morgana in coach, so as to keep up pretenses, meaning that he didn't have the assurance of seeing her one last time before they took off. Heading to his seat, he turned down the offer of food and alcohol, instead opting to push himself as deep as he could into the plush blue seat, willing himself to sleep through as much of the flight as he could. He didn't want to focus on the intense hammering of his heart.

There was no going back now.

* * *

  


It seemed that Morgana's skills in illegal activities were more polished than Arthur had expected, for just over seven hours later, the two were standing in the mid-afternoon sunshine just outside LaGuardia, having made it off the plane and through customs without even a hiccup. Morgana was freed of her disguise; there was enough of a crowd that one would barely register Morgana's face on their radar, let alone suspect her of being a wanted sorceress. She had assured Arthur that she was barely known in New York; the anti-magic forces hadn't found her connection with the city yet. Apparently there was such a thing as small miracles.

There would, however, have to be a hell of gigantic miracle for this whole plot to work out. The first step may have worked, but they were only scratching the surface of Morgana's problem. The real difficulties began now.

As per Morgana's instruction, Arthur called a taxi to take them from the airport to the Gansevoort Meatpacking Hotel. It was a posh choice, despite its less than promising name, but whether or not it was refined enough for Arthur's taste didn't matter, as he wouldn't actually be staying there. It was a part of Morgana's plan; Arthur had made reservations for the next two weeks, which she was certain would be an ample amount of time to take care of business. Her train of thought was that legal documents proving his stay in the city would give him credibility with the anti-magic police in the city.

After arriving and checking in at the front desk, Arthur careened out a side door, not even bothering to head up the stairs of the lavish and extravagant building. He met Morgana just outside.

She was standing against the building's brick will, clicking her heels impatiently. "About time. Now come on, I'll take you to our base."

This was the part Arthur was dreading most; meeting other magic users. Encounters with Morgana were all well and good. She was his sister, his family. But a whole group of gifted sorcerers who could easily kill him in his sleep? Apprehension could only be expected.

So as not to let Morgana know his hesitant thoughts, he immediately replied "All right. Lead the way."

Morgana wasted no time in her purposeful stride down Ninth Avenue, dodging and diving around the throngs of people in such a perfected style that suggested that she had lived in New York her entire life. Arthur struggled to keep up with her as she veered off into the West Village.

It was slightly less busy there, but not by much. If Arthur wasn't a born and raised Londoner, he might have been intimidated by the sheer size of the crowds. He'd been to this city once before, when he was eleven or twelve, with Uther when he was on one of his business trips and Arthur and Morgana's nanny took an unexpected vacation. Since it was Uther, they hadn't really spent any time seeing the sights, and the performance would obviously be repeated during Arthur's second stay here. No time for tourism when a girl's life was on the line.

"Here," Morgana stopped short in their hurry through the streets. As the crowd shuffled around them, she gestured down a side alley directly off of the main street; a narrow street, dirty and dilapidated, the brick walls splattered with what was hopefully red paint.

"And…?" Arthur asked, waiting for a punch line. A wretched back alley was hardly a safe haven for wandering warlocks.

Morgana arched an elegant eyebrow. "Hurry along," she said, heading down the alley, leaving Arthur no choice but to follow.

"It's a dead end," he felt complied to point out as he doubled his pace to meet Morgana's stride. He could almost hear an eye roll, although her face was out of his line of vision.

"Just follow me."

Glancing about cautiously, Morgana took a step forward toward the solid brick wall to their left. Arthur lagged behind slightly, not exactly sure what to make of the fact that she was pressing her hand firmly against the concrete.

His question was answered with a hiss of her breath, muttering an archaic incantation. She gestured Arthur forward impatiently as she spoke in tongues, her arm wrapping viselike against his own. Arthur's heart began to pump erratically as he wondered whether whatever Morgana was doing would be safe for him.

Then he didn't wonder anything at all, because as Morgana uttered her final syllable, Arthur was suddenly struck with the horrible sensation of being sucked into a vacuum cleaner. The world around him was growing smaller and smaller by the second, more constricting and suffocating against his newly fragile lungs. He tried to scream, but his throat would make no noise; he looked to Morgana but found that his eyes seemed to have rolled backward in his head. Attempting to thrash about wildly, there was no movement in his arms or legs. He was simply being pulled through a horribly small tube, eating away at him and cutting off his circulation even more with every second.

And, just as suddenly as it began, it was over. Arthur, upon the return of feeling in his body, dropped to his knees, retching. He was so beyond dizzy that the mere thought of opening his eyes was far beyond him.

"Is this him, then?"

Arthur forced his eyes open at the sound of a clipped female voice. Blinking a few times to clear his head, he looked up from his position of kneeling to see a young woman, definitely not past twenty, with curly brunette hair and a disdainful expression. Heaving himself up next to Morgana, who was already standing, only appearing windswept – God, that wasn't  _fair_  – and took in his surroundings.

It wasn't what he had expected.

Part of him was anticipating being led into a creepy old mansion, or at the other end of the spectrum, an abandoned hotel; something spooky to go with the magical aura. This…this was not either of those things.

It was a house; it was one of those places that normal, middle-class families lived in, with a cute kitchen furnished with a large dining room table, and a comfortable living room off to the right. There was even a television in it, surrounded by a few navy cushioned couches. Between the two rooms was a staircase leading up to what was presumably the upstairs, and Arthur hazarded a guess that there were bedrooms up there. Morgana did say there were quite a few people living here.

One of which must be the girl that was currently looking at him as if dissecting an interesting new specimen. Her hazel eyes were cold and calculating.

"Kara, this is Arthur," Morgana introduced him. "Arthur, Kara. She's a magic user from Virginia."

"Hello," Arthur said, a bit awkwardly. Morgana stepped hard on his foot, causing a shot of pain to go up his leg, so he attempted politeness and held out a hand to shake. "Nice to meet you."

Kara ignored the hand and instead looked to Morgana. "He doesn't look like he's up for the job. Lancelot has already sent the e-mail from his account requesting for an audience with the A-Ms tomorrow morning. I hope that you can properly prepare him in that time."

With one final disdainful glance, the girl turned on her heel and walked up the staircase, her floor-length red skirt dragging on the ground behind her.

Arthur turned to Morgana, not sure what part of that little speech he should address first. Morgana just shook her head. "That's Kara. She's a bitch, but you get used to her eventually. Don't listen to anything she says; she hates anyone that doesn't have magic, even Lance and Gwen."

"Who are –?" Arthur started to ask.

"Lance is Lancelot – Glad he got that e-mail done, he's an excellent hacker even without magic – He's from London. He was one of the first people here, helped save Gaius from the A-Ms a few years back but was recognized, so Gaius offered to let him stay here with him. This is Gaius's place, by the way," she said, gesturing around at their surroundings. "Set it up years ago in case of emergencies. Thank God he did or we'd all probably be dead."

"Am I going to meet all these people?" Arthur said, head trying to comprehend all this new information as quickly as he could.

"Of course you are," Morgana said, clicking her tongue. "They're all upstairs now – Although I'm sure Kara will have informed them that you're here and they'll all trample you like wildebeests."

"Pleasant thought," Arthur said, trying to keep his voice level, as he didn't know if she was being serious or not. Everyone in this house was at a greater advantage than he was, not to mention that they had every reason to hate him. They probably could trample him easy as pie, but he would try not to think about that. "Will they all be as rude as her?"

"Definitely not," Morgana shook her head. "They're – Oh, hi, Mordred!"

A figure coming down the staircase shot a smile at them, which was quite different from Kara's greeting indeed. As he reached their level, Arthur took in his appearance; about Kara's age, shorter than him, with dark curly hair and a white smile. He had a childish aura to him that made Arthur's tension ebb away a notch.

"Hi, Morgana," he reached forward and embraced her heartily. Arthur stepped backward to let them have their moment. "Good to have you back."

"Good to be back," Morgana smiled as they parted. "This is my brother, Arthur. Arthur, meet Mordred, another magic user and Kara's boyfriend."

Arthur raised an eyebrow at that remark – this kid, who seemed sweet as can be, dating  _her_? – But he shook Mordred's hand nonetheless. Mordred pumped back enthusiastically.

"So great to meet you!" Mordred said. "You doing this for Freya is absolutely incredible, thank you so much!"

Arthur was a bit dumbstruck by the kid's pleasantness. Did he know who Arthur's father was? Well, that was an irrelevant question, as he had known Morgana for at least a couple of years now. "Wow, uh, thanks."

Arthur really had no idea what other responses there were. He was just trying to keep himself afloat and not get killed by apparently harmless sorcerers.

Luckily, he was spared having to make further conversation with Mordred by the appearance of two more men coming down the staircase, followed by the familiar Kara, whose expression was sour. One of them was young, looking to be about twenty-five and devastatingly handsome. The other was an older gentleman with long, white hair, whom the handsome one helped down the staircase.

"Arthur! What a pleasure to meet you at last!" The older man stepped forward around Mordred, and to Arthur's immense shock, he found himself engulfed in a hug. Arthur tried to breathe in deeply and not give any of his discomfort away. It was a nice hug, assuredly; one that reminded him of hugs he wished his father would have given him as a child. He shoved that thought out of his head immediately, though, and simply focused on the man in front of him, who let him go with a kindly smile. "My name is Gaius. It's wonderful to have you here."

_I wish I could say the same,_ was Arthur's reflexive mental response, but he definitely wouldn't be saying that aloud. "It's good to meet you as well," he said instead.

"I'm Lancelot," said the other man with a smile showing off a row of pearly whites. "I'm one of the only non-sorcerers here, so if you're ever feeling overwhelmed by all of this, you can always come talk to me."

Arthur liked him immediately. And his appearance had absolutely nothing to do with it. (No, seriously, attractiveness wasn't even a factor in this circumstance. Honestly!) Any possible non douche-like responses, however, were chased out of his brain by a sudden shove.

A girl, rushing down the stairs at top speed, streaked past all of them and into Morgana, throwing her arms across his sister's shoulders in a tight embrace. The others had cleared a path for her, but Arthur hadn't been so lucky, and the girl's hand had hit the back of his neck. Rubbing it slightly, Arthur turned to get a good look at her. "Missed you," Arthur heard the girl mumbling into Morgana's neck as she cradled her.

As they broke apart, Morgana's glance at Arthur was a bit sheepish. "This – This is Gwen."

Arthur assessed the young woman in front of him, who had turned away from Morgana to address his presence. She was pretty in an understated kind of way, with long chocolate curls and smooth dark skin. She dimpled up at him and Arthur found himself grinning back. "I didn't know you had a girlfriend, Morgana," he said, tone teasing, yet he was sure it was obvious how happy he was for her. After the disclosure about her and Morgause, he hadn't expected a significant other, but his happiness at the prospect of some happiness for Morgana in the love department.

To his satisfaction, Morgana's chinks turned pink as she interlocked her fingers with Gwen's. "It didn't come up."

"Well, I'm glad someone's around to keep Morgana in line," Arthur couldn't resist throwing in, much to both Morgana and Gwen's chagrin, as the other woman was now blushing alongside her partner as they intertwined their fingers. He assumed that Gwen wasn't a magic user, judging my Morgana's earlier comment, at least, which he would slightly ashamedly admit, made him feel much more comfortable about their situation. "Is this all of you, then?"

Morgana shook her head as she surveyed the small crowd. "There's still Merlin. Where is he? I was certain that he'd be the first down here."

"He's out on one of his walks," Gaius said from Arthur's left, shaking his head in a fond sort of way. Turning to Arthur, he said "He's been a bit on edge since Freya was taken, so please excuse him if he takes it out on you."

"He takes it out on the rest of us easily enough," Kara said with a snort that made Arthur immediately want to jump to this Merlin person's defense, despite not knowing anything about him, whoever he was.

"How was Freya caught?" Arthur asked, curious. Morgana had never really expanded on the point, but Arthur figured he would need to know at least some of the details on her arrest if he was to pull off his role convincingly.

Everyone was silent for a moment and Arthur had a jolt of worry that he wouldn't be answered. Lancelot, however, took pity on him and spoke up. He knew there was a reason he liked him. "She was one of the escapees from the Emrys Prison Break," he explained. "Her disguise when she was out once, getting groceries, it slipped. And there was an officer nearby."

Arthur nodded in understanding. A little less than two years previously, Vickers Magical Prison, back in the UK, Manchester to be exact, was destroyed by a warlock that went by the name of Emrys; an old man, probably older than Gaius, but with immense raw power. Perhaps the most powerful sorcerer othe century, he burned the prison to a crisp, letting each and every one of the five hundred plus prisoners escape. He was number one on the hit list for the anti-magic forces, not just in London, but everywhere in the world, and those that he had aided and abetted in leaving the prison behind had their pictures spread around more than any other sorcerers. If Freya had been one of the escapees, recognizing her would be much easier than recognizing someone like Mordred or Kara, who Arthur had never heard of.

"Were all of you…?" Arthur began hesitantly, not sure how he wanted to phrase his question.

"Oh, no," Lancelot shook his head as he leaned against the plaster wall leading up the staircase. "The only ones involved in Vickers were Freya and…and Merlin."

Arthur nodded before asking another one of his endless strings of questions. "And what did Kara mean about you e-mailing off of my account?" He figured that Lancelot was the only one here who would answer his questions directly. He definitely felt more comfortable talking to him than he would talk to someone that had magic. "And while we're on that subject, what's an A-M?"

"A-Ms are the anti-magic forces," Mordred piped up as he put an arm around Kara's shoulder. Her expression seemed to relax slightly, but she was still glaring at Arthur as if he were a cockroach she would like to squash. "Just a shortened term."

"And I hacked into your e-mail account – sorry for that, by the way, but we needed to get ahead of the game," Lancelot said apologetically. "I contacted the head of the department, Alfonso Aredian, asking for an audience to talk about Freya and her connections to Morgana. His assistant replied; you've got a meeting bright and early tomorrow morning."

"Thanks," Arthur said hesitantly, although his heart was threatening to jump out of his chest. He wasn't ready to do this so quickly, to break every law that his father held dear.

"No, it's us who should be thanking you," Gwen said in earnest. "We have evidence for you, by the way; a blurry photo of Freya and Morgana that looks like it was from some security footage at a department store."

"Will that be enough?" Arthur questioned. He knew a bit about how the anti-magic forces operated, his father had drilled it into his head enough times, and they tended to be much stricter and much more 'shoot first, ask questions later' than ordinary police officers.

"Well, Merlin will be going with you, so it should be fine," Gaius said.

"Wait – what?" Arthur was shocked enough that he barely registered the impact of the statement. "Isn't this Merlin person a magic user, too? How the hell could he come along?"

"Merlin is a master of disguise," Gaius began to explain. Arthur listened attentively, although the rest of the crowd, who had probably heard this tale before, just looked on with slight boredom as he spoke. "He has a childhood friend by the name of Gwaine Macken who travels around the world with the guise of helping the anti-magic forces, while he actually does all he can to help sorcerers escape the confines of the law. Merlin occasionally sends him dates of when to lay low so that he can disguise himself as Gwaine, if need be. So really, Gwaine will be accompanying you to the anti-magic headquarters."

Arthur blinked a few times. That secret was obviously one well-kept within the magical community, and yet Gaius had just told him everything about it after knowing him for mere minutes. It struck him for the first time how much faith these people had in him, how much they were depending on him to do them right.

It had an almost humbling effect on him.

"Oh, I only just thought!" Gwen said suddenly. "You've come from London, I'm sure you're jetlagged. Do you want me to show you up to your bedroom? Gaius created another one especially for you."

"Er, thanks," Arthur said. Now that she mentioned it, he was getting tired. While it was only three in the afternoon in New York, it felt more like eleven at night in his mind. "That would be great."

"Follow me," she said cheerfully. "Unless…unless you want Morgana to come with you…?"

"I think I can survive without her," Arthur turned to smirk at his sister. Her eyes searched him worriedly; apparently both she and Gwen thought that he might be uncomfortable with the group unless he was with her. While he appreciated the sentiment, he was certain that no harm would befall him having Gwen accompany him upstairs. Besides, she wasn't a sorcerer. If she was, the concern might be justified.

Arthur followed Gwen as she careened through the throng gathered at the door that was now slowly dispersing after the departure of their new toy. That was how Arthur felt like he was perceived, at least; all of them seemed nice enough, but they  _were_ sorcerers. And even though he loved Morgana, he just couldn't wrap his head around being involved in this whole community. It was the most surreal experience he'd ever had, and he hadn't even met all of them yet.

Walking up the blue-carpeted staircase and away from the prying eyes, Arthur was greeted by a long, narrow hallway with a plethora of doorways on either side.

"We all have our own room," Gwen said happily. "Well, Mordred and Kara share. And so do Morgana and I," she added with a blush staining her pretty cheeks. "Was that too much information? I don't want to make you uncomfortable or anything. If you want, I won't talk about it. I'll tell the others not to talk about it, too. I –"

"Gwen," Arthur cut in and she stopped the blathering, blushing even more. Arthur was oddly endeared. "I'm glad that Morgana has you."

"Thanks," she gave him a white smile before pushing open a plain white door at the end of the hall. "Sorry if you don't like it, but you can always get Gaius or one of the other magic users to redecorate for you."

Arthur refrained from making a comment about not wanting any more magic around him than was strictly necessary and followed Gwen's hand into the room. It was furnished in dark red, a large and plush bed in the center of a white carpeted area, a large mahogany desk off to the side. There was a door on the other side of the room that Arthur presumed let to a bathroom.

Letting his suitcase clunk against the floor, he turned to Gwen, who was standing a bit awkwardly in the doorway. "Thank you. I think I'll turn in now."

She nodded in assent. "If you're not awake by six tomorrow, we'll send someone to get you. But I'm sure you will be. The kitchen's fully stocked; Mordred made sure of it, and it wasn't created magically, thank goodness. I'm a stickler for grocery shopping, magic food just tastes weird. So if you need anything…"

"I'll know where to find it," Arthur finished for her.

"Night, Arthur," she smiled again before leaving the room, closing the door carefully behind her.

Arthur gave out a heaving sigh as he surveyed the room once more. He really wasn't even all that tired, but this place made him edge-of-his-seat nervous. But he'd be out of here soon enough; just a couple of weeks and he would be back in London, hopefully never having to interact with another magic user not including Morgana. He was hopeful that he would at least earn the right to receive contact from her after this.

After pulling on pajama bottoms and t-shirt, Arthur curled into the comfortable scarlet comforter, unsure if sleep would come to whisk him away.

* * *

  


When Arthur awoke, he wasn't sure what time it was. He was barely aware of  _where_ he was, and it took a whole five seconds to remember that this was not his London flat. The tip off was that it was much warmer, the bed enveloping him in burgundy red instead of the usual cold, crisp black. There was also the clump of fur in his face constricting his breath. That kind of let him in on secret, too.

"Mmph," Arthur grunted as he tried to shove away what was trying and succeeding to cut off his oxygen supply. He heard a hiss as the thing fell unceremoniously to a heap on the floor. Breathing heavily, Arthur peered cautiously over the bedside to get a glimpse at his attacker.

The horrifying magical creature that he had expected to see was not there. Instead of having to face a chimera or a griffin, Arthur found himself face to face with a gigantic ginger cat, one who fur was dirty and matted, eyes flashing green in the dark of the room as the animal glared menacing at him.

Before Arthur could properly register the cat's appearance, he heard his door swing open, followed by the flash of the lights coming on. Blinking blearily in the sudden sensory overload, Arthur squinted up, vision slowly returning to normal as he took in the figure standing in the doorway into sharp focus.

It wasn't anyone he recognized, which immediately the hairs on the back of his neck shoot straight up. The stranger was a young man, tall and skinny and dressed in a dark green hoodie, with messy black hair that only partway covered overlarge ears, a narrow face with high cheekbones, and crystalline eyes that were currently staring at Arthur intently as he began to speak.

"Oh, God, I'm so sorry about that," he groaned, his voice a low timbre. Arthur also noted that he was decidedly British, for his accent had a Welsh lilt. "Kilgharrah tends to find closed doors more like suggestions to stay away, not actual orders." Arthur must have looked lost, for the man explained himself further. "He can move through walls. Among other things. He's a horrible pest. I've threatened to kick him back out on the street seven times. He must know that I'm not serious."

Arthur, pulling blankets off himself as he unsteadily rose to his feet – he and the process of waking up were not on great terms – regarding the stranger with half irritability and half curiosity.

"Are you Merlin, then, or is there another person here that I wasn't aware of?" Arthur asked. If this person was Merlin, he and Arthur would be spending quite a lot of time together, and he wasn't sure how the other man would feel about that. He wasn't sure how he himself felt about it, really. He supposed he'd better wait for the man's name to see if the worrying was at all justified.

"Yep, that's me," he replied. Okay, so the worry wasn't entirely a product of Arthur's mind. Merlin strode further into the room, around the other side of Arthur's bed to crouch down next to Kilgharrah, apparently, although the true ridiculousness of that name was matched only with Merlin's own moniker, for that certainly had to be a ruse, or else a very bad joke, to name a magical child Merlin. The other man kept chattering away, however.

"And that makes you Arthur Pendragon, my partner in crime come morning, huh?" Arthur peered over the bed to see Merlin carefully petting the top of Kilgharrah's head. The beast was purring now, obviously content. "Hope you're up for it; we all really appreciate you coming here to help us out. Morgana speaks highly of you when she's not ranting about your 'utter stupidity' – direct quote, in case you were wondering – so I have high expectations."

Arthur wasn't sure what part of that he wanted to address. What really piqued his notice was the mention of tomorrow, meaning that he had not slept for fifteen hours straight. He hadn't expected to, but he couldn't help but hope. "What time is it?"

"About eleven at night," Merlin said as he rose to his feet from his position next to Kilgharrah. Apparently he had talked to the cat or – Arthur shuddered – cast a spell on him, for the animal was curled up in a ball now, seemingly fast asleep. "I dunno if you'll be able to fall back asleep. If could help you along…?"

Merlin seemed to realize the connotations of his sentence, for he quickly backtracked, formerly pale cheeks tinged pink. "That was not a come on. I meant with magic."

Arthur, who had realized what he meant, would have really preferred sex to magic. He wasn't one for sleeping with strangers, but he was certain that that would be far preferable to slipping into a magic-induced sleep. Besides, Merlin wasn't half-bad looking.

"Well, it would have been a pretty bad come on," he joked, knowing it was kind of weak, but his verbal arsenal wasn't fully equipped during the first five minutes of being awaken. "And I'm fine. I'll fall back asleep as long as that demon cat doesn't bother me."

"Oi, Kilgharrah is not a demon!" Merlin shook a finger at him, but was grinning in jest. "He's a murderous school bus."

"I'm not sure if I want to ask what that means," Arthur regarded Merlin with a raised eyebrow.

"You'll understand once he plows into your legs five or six times," Merlin gave a fake shudder, which made Arthur chuckle. "I'll leave you to it, then. And I'll most likely be your wake-up call in the morning; I'm not sure how many people will be getting up to see us off."

"See you then, I suppose," Arthur began to smile as well. For a sorcerer, Merlin seemed okay. Definitely not dangerous; he may be a master of disguise according to Gaius, but after only a few minutes, Arthur felt entirely at ease with him. He wondered what could have possibly been meant about Merlin taking out his anger on him. There didn't seem to be anything threatening about him.

Except, of course, that he had magic.

"Do you want me to take Kilgharrah out of here?" Merlin asked, oblivious to Arthur's thoughts. "He won't wake for hours, but…"

After a glance at the creature, which looked like he was snoring – cats could  _snore_? – (apparently magical cats did), and shook his head. "I'll be fine. If I wake up with a clump of fur on my face again I'll just yell for you to come and deal with him for me."

Merlin let out a full laugh, mouth opening wide. "I'm right across the hall, so I'll definitely hear you. Goodnight, Arthur."

"Night," Arthur smiled a bit bemusedly as Merlin gave a little wave as he shut the door.

He sat there in silence for a few moments, trying to shake the feeling that something of the utmost importance just happened.


	2. Chapter Two

After hours of restlessly tossing and turning with very little actual sleep occurring, Arthur found himself being awoken, his shoulder being shook roughly. Squinting and noticing that the accursed lights were on once again, Arthur saw Merlin leaning down over him with tired eyes, although they looked alight with something unnamable.

“Rise and shine,” Merlin said with a scratchy voice. “Breakfast in twenty. Gwen’s cooking, thank the Lord. Apparently you merit the fantastic gift that is her pancakes.”

“Lovely,” Arthur groaned as he slid his feet onto the floor, rising to his feet next to Merlin, who was dressed in the same hoodie he had been wearing the night before.

“Did Kilgharrah bother you at all?” Merlin asked as he leaned against Arthur’s bedpost for support. It seemed Merlin liked mornings about as much as Arthur did. “If he did, I can throw him in the washing machine again. That always makes for good amusement.”

“That’s animal cruelty,” Arthur felt the need to point out as he stumbled over to the bathroom door. “But I suppose you’re not particularly worried about being arrested for it.”

Merlin’s lip twitched. “Not particularly.”

“Anything specific I need for today?” Arthur asked.

Merlin shook his head. “Don’t think so. We have both Morgana and Freya’s files downstairs for you, along with that picture of the two of them together. Just dress up nice; a suit and tie will do. Not that it’ll be a problem for you, Mr. Hotshot Lawyer.”

A smirk played on Merlin’s lips as Arthur glared in his general direction. “Don’t you have to go get ready, too? You know; magical disguises and all that?”

“Oh, right,” Merlin looked as if he’d momentarily forgotten his responsibility, for his forehead creased and eyes went wider. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

He disappeared into the dimly lit hallway a moment later. Slipping off his seats, Arthur pulled a white button down and a black suit jacket with matching pants out of his duffle bag. He grabbed a golden checkered tie, too, heeding Merlin’s advice. After all, they would need to make a good impression.

After prepping himself for the day, Arthur headed out into the hallway to find it entirely devoid of humans, all of its doors closed tight. He assumed many of the house’s inhabitants were still asleep; it was probably very early here in America. He wasn’t sure when he and Merlin were scheduled to meet with Aredian, other than that it was closer to dawn than noon.

Walking down the narrow staircase, Arthur steeled himself for confronting the masses. Careening right into the kitchen, however, he was met only be Gaius, Gwen, and Morgana sitting around the large wooden circular table he had seen briefly the day before. Each of them had a plate stacked high with buttery, syrupy golden pancakes. Arthur’s mouth watered instantly; he was _starving_.

Thankfully, Morgana held up a fourth plate as she saw him approaching. “Morning. We have the food of the gods in here, but you’ll have to hurry or I’ll eat them all for you.”

“Don’t you dare,” Arthur strode purposefully into the kitchen, grabbing his plate from Morgana’s outstretched hand, stabbing one of the pancakes viciously with the fork she handed him a moment later. He took his first bite as he sunk into the chair opposite his sister; the taste was light and airy, maple dancing across his taste buds. He moaned loudly.

“Gwen, these are heavenly,” he told her. She smiled at him and murmured a soft thank you. “Merlin was right when he said these were a gift.”

“Is Merlin treating you nicely?” Gaius spoke up as he set down his fork. “He’s been in a perpetually bad mood for over a week now.”

“He’s been in a perpetually bad mood for most of his life now,” Morgana corrected, scoffing. “Not that I don’t love him for it, because I do. He’s just a bastard sometimes.”

“Really?” Arthur asked, surprised, not seeing Merlin’s cheerful smile and teasing attitude in anything they were saying. “He seems…I dunno, nice. Friendly.”

“He is,” Gwen reassured him. Morgana just snorted while Gwen sent her a mocking glare. “He’s just dealt with a lot in his life, and losing Freya is really bothering him. She’s like his little sister.”

Arthur nodded in understanding. If Merlin felt for Freya the way he felt for Morgana, he could definitely see why he wouldn’t be in the greatest state of mind. It made him wonder why he was treating Arthur with such open friendliness; was he just being polite to his friend’s brother, or was there something about Arthur himself? The second idea warmed him unexpectedly, but he dismissed it out of hand.

He opened his mouth to ask once more about Freya’s capture, but the sound of approaching footsteps stopped him. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed an unfamiliar face make its way from the door leading up the stairs toward the group in the kitchen. His muscles tensed as he looked at the newcomer, an involuntary reaction.

The stranger looked to be a bit shorter than Arthur, well-built with long, nearly shoulder-length silky brown hair with a matching beard and moustache duo, wearing a suit similar to his own, only less trendy. He had a peculiar expression on his face; Arthur would swear up and down that he vaguely recognized it, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on the familiarity of the man. When the person spoke, however, Arthur received his answer.

“I hate turning into Gwaine. Hate it. He always sends me disgusting text messages about wanking while I’m wearing his body.  It’s rather sickening.”

“Merlin?” Arthur couldn’t help but gape. He gave a sideways glance at his three comrades at the table, but each of them continued eating their pancakes, expressions unchanged. Master of disguise indeed. The ruse was impeccable; the man standing in front of him couldn’t possibly be Merlin; Arthur could barely tell that he wasn’t the person that he appeared to be. He surveyed the other man closely as he pulled out the chair next to Arthur, reaching for a fork and stabbing a pancake off of Gaius’s plate as if he was wielding a sword.

“The very same,” Merlin said as he swallowed. His voice was different now, the tone higher and the accent classier. Arthur could barely detect the hint of Welsh he had heard less than a half an hour before. He definitely did not care for this new appearance. “Aren’t I impressive?”

“No,” Arthur lied. “You’ll be impressive after we escape our meeting with Aredian with both of our heads intact.”

“Speaking of Aredian, we must discuss the details of your appointment,” Gaius straightened his spine as he passed Arthur a yellow manila folder that had previously been sitting on his lap. Paging through it, Arthur found not only the blurry photo of Morgana and Freya together that he had been promised the previous day, but also a thick packet of papers stapled together with Morgana’s name and picture in the corner. Behind it was an identical stack, only with the name Freya Brook, a slight, dark-haired girl with a nervous smile.

“Now, Aredian is the toughest in the business – His nickname is the Witchfinder. You’ll have to be very careful in order to fool him,” Gaius gave Merlin a sideways glance. The disguised warlock nodded in affirmation as he took another pancake. Arthur did the same. If this was going to be his last meal, at least it was a delicious one.

“He shouldn’t be able to tell of Merlin’s disguise,” Gaius kept on. “But rest assured he’ll look into Gwaine’s history with great detail. I know you’ve gone into the Anti-Magic Department as Gwaine before, Merlin, but you’ve never had an encounter with someone this high up on the totem pole. He’ll be looking into your history as well, Arthur,” he added. “He will dig up any information that they can find on you to research the legitimacy of your claim.”

“And my claim is of Freya’s connections to Morgana?” Arthur felt the need to clarify as he glanced briefly at his sister, whose expression had remained neutral this entire time. “And I want her brought to London for extensive questioning?”

“Precisely,” Gaius confirmed. “You should, however, have an advantage what with your father’s position.”

Arthur’s stomach churned unpleasantly at the comment.

Merlin, somehow, seemed to sense this, or after sparing a worried look at Arthur, he turned back to Gaius, asking “And how do we explain Arthur’s connection to Gwaine?”

“Gwaine is in London right now with Percival, is he not?” Gaius asked. “He just finished up with helping that Elena Gawant with that pixie problem. We can just say he and Arthur ran across each other there and Arthur hired him to aid in this case.”

“Clever,” Morgana joined the conversation. “But are we forgetting anything? There can’t be any loopholes.”

“What about Arthur’s sudden interest in Morgana?” Gwen asked with a thoughtful tone. “Why look for her now after so many years of silence?”

Arthur felt a stab of guilt. He knew that Gwen didn’t mean to be provoking or accusatory with her comment, but it tore at Arthur anyway. He attempted shrugging it off, offhandedly making the comment “I’ll just say that I had a discussion with a coworker who reminded me of the dangers magic presents to society and they inspired me to search for Morgana in order to protect humanity from her.”

Morgana swatted the back of his head, which kind of hurt, since she was wearing three or four silver rings. “Bastard!”

“What? It’s very believable!” Arthur protested. “You heard Uther spiel shit like that all of the time. It’s not like I _believe_ it.” His eyes met Merlin’s momentarily as if he was reassuring him, which was a bit insane, seeing as how he’d known him for less than a day; but Merlin’s newly brown eyes, no longer their striking blue, seemed to understand the odd purpose behind the look, for he smiled softly.

After a few moments of slightly awkward silence as the last of the pancakes mysteriously vanished into everyone’s stomachs, Gaius cleared his throat. “You two should best be on your way. Your meeting starts at eight o’clock sharp and it’s just past seven. The subway may be crowded.”

Arthur pushed his chair back as he rose to his feet, Merlin mimicking his actions as the other man gestured toward the empty expanse of white wall before them. “Ready for everyone’s favorite excuse for a doorway?”

Arthur groaned, remembering yesterday’s horrible experience getting inside. A part of him was very, very glad that Merlin had not seen his less than exemplary performance upon arrival yesterday. “Same way we got in?”

“Unfortunately,” Merlin said with a slight eye roll. “We’re technically being shrunken down to tiny little people when we go through the door, so it has to be unpleasant.”

“Shrunken down?” Arthur repeated, trying to ignore his insides squirming at the thought of all that magic contaminating him. “So does that mean it’s bigger on the inside?”

Merlin laughed outright. It didn’t look nearly as good on Gwaine’s face as it did on his own. In a direct contrast to his tinkling laughter, Morgana groaned loudly; Gaius and Gwen just shook their heads in mild amusement.

“Merlin makes that joke at least once a day,” Morgana informed him tartly. “You’ve just found the doorway to his iron, stone cold heart.”

“Stop spoiling my reputation!” Merlin groaned as he flexed his fingers ever so slightly. “C’mere, Arthur, let’s get out of here before Morgana tells more lies about me.”

Arthur dutifully stepped toward Merlin so that they were both facing the seemingly solid wall at the exact same spot that Arthur had entered yesterday. He felt Merlin’s arm hook through his own as a strangled hiss escaped his cohort’s mouth. Merlin’s hand was now placed firmly against a blank space of the wall, but Arthur knew better than to think it was meaningless.

That didn’t stop the horrible suffocation that followed, like being squeezed through a tube. Luckily, upon landing outside in the pavement, Arthur did not fall to the ground again. Although that might have had something to do with Merlin’s grip keeping him upright.

“You okay?” He heard Merlin’s – well, Gwaine’s – voice ask as he worked to regain his sight. Upon opening his eyes, he immediately zone in on their surroundings. It was the same alleyway that he had seen the day before, only this time he knew what secret it hid.

“Fine,” Arthur tried his best to smile at Merlin. It was then that he noticed their hands still clasped together, causing him to quickly jerk his own back to his side. He quickly searched for something to say and finally settled with “So how do people without magic get in?”

“They don’t,” Merlin said as he headed down the alleyway and out into the sunlit street. There were quite a few people, but not nearly as many as Arthur had seen the day before, as it was now so early. No one would be up and about that didn’t have work or class. “Gwen and Lance always have to go out with one of us. It’s a safety precaution, making sure none of the A-Ms can get inside.”

Arthur nodded in understanding as they walked down the sidewalk, Merlin leading the way. His legs were slightly shorter now, meaning that Arthur had to slow his pace slightly for them to be on a similar page. They were silent for a few moments, making a few turns through the streets, until a couple of blocks later, when Merlin gestured to a staircase leading downwards into the subway station. Arthur followed him down the stairs, their suits not looking out of place with the other early morning workers struggling to get to their jobs on time.

“I’ll swipe my card twice for you,” Merlin murmured as they were standing in line at the turnstiles.

“Where did you get the cards anyway?” Arthur asked, keeping his voice low so that passerby would have difficulties deciphering their words.

“Lancelot,” Merlin said. “He’s basically the answer to all of our prayers.”

“You’re close, then?” Arthur said, not exactly sure the feeling that bubbled in his gut at Merlin’s overly fond tone.

“He’s the best friend I’ve got,” Merlin responded. Their conversation was cut short by the redheaded woman in front of them heading through the turnstile, leaving Merlin to pull a card out of his wallet, swiping it twice to let the both of them through to the train.

Once they reached the other side, hurrying through the slightly more crowded area, Arthur asked “The Anti-Magic Headquarters is near the NYPD, right?”

“Relatively close,” Merlin said with a shrug as he pointed to one of the trains, striding over nearer to it. Arthur followed in suit. “It’s on West 66th.  The normal cops didn’t want to be interfered with all the time, but sometimes the two have to work together on cases, so the nearer they are to one another the better, at least in terms of getting work done.”

Arthur could vaguely recall his father visiting the anti-magic building when they had been in the city, but he and Morgana had stayed in their motel, refusing to come along and for good reason. Not that Uther would ever let them come in the first place, but the point in their refusal remained valid and always would be valid. No one with magic should ever have to voluntarily enter that building.  

Before he could respond to Merlin, a zooming noise brought his attention to the subway car rattling down the tracks, coming to a breaking halt in front of them. “Train’s here,” Arthur said, pointing out the obvious. Merlin nodded.

“Let’s go.”

They joined the throngs of people entering the car and Merlin quickly snagged two open seats right next to the door; very convenient. They sat there in silence, doors closing and the voice over the intercom blaring out street names as they speeded down the tracks. Their destination wasn’t far away, and after listening to the intercom, he discovered that they would only have to wait for a grand total of two separate stops before they arrived.

Of course, after that was when the real problems began. Arthur’s heart was beating uncomfortably quickly as the gravity of the situation took a hold of him once again. He could be arrested and possibly executed for what he had agreed to do, and now they were finally heading for the Witchfinder, a man famous for locking away sorcerers. He could kill Merlin and jail Arthur on the spot if their personas slipped even slightly.

It was a terrifying thought.

He wasn’t allowed to dwell on it long, for Merlin gently nudged his knee with his own after a few moments, gesturing to the new station the subway was pulling up in to. Arthur nodded thickly and when Merlin rose to his feet, he followed in suit, heading out the opening doors just after him.

They weaved and maneuvered through the station, through the crowds of early morning works, until they were finally above ground, on the sunlit street once again. Arthur blinked, adjusting himself to the light as he watched Merlin’s hazel eyes – his blue eyes were much nicer – roam around their surroundings until he pointed to a building at the end of the street.

“There,” he said. “That’s it. That’s the Anti-Magic Headquarters.”

The building wasn’t remarkable, Arthur noticed. Large, surely, it was over twenty stories, and definitely pretentious, what with its title displayed prominently near the top of the building with glass panes on every front, but it didn’t seem out of place among the rest of the skyscrapers in the city. It was busy, however; folks were bustling in and out of the revolving doors at the entrance, none of them smiling, none of them chatting, and only trying to get to business.

Arthur glanced sideways at Merlin, who was gazing up at the building with an expression not of fear, but of hatred. Of anger. And of course he had a reason to look like that; these people had persecuted him all his life, they were holding his friend captive. And, Arthur realized with a jolt, they had held Merlin captive once, too. According to Lancelot, he had been involved in the Vickers outbreak. He’d seen all of this firsthand.

“You alright?” Arthur wasn’t great with comforting, but he hoped that his hand on Merlin’s shoulder would help in some way. It seemed to, as Merlin’s hard expression melted off as he smiled, albeit nervously, over at Arthur.

“Fine,” he replied. “Come on. Let’s go and get this over with.”

“I don’t need telling twice.”

They headed across the street, stopping briefly to let cars go by before reaching the entrance to the building. Merlin led the way, as he had since they left the base, and he took Arthur around the groups of men and women coming into and out of the building until the two had made their way through the doors, arriving in the lobby.

It was crowded there, nearly as busy as the outside street. Dressed plainly but classily, wooden oak walls surrounded the desks, halls and elevators located directly behind them. That was where the majority of the street-goers were heading, dressed either in a suit or slacks, or a standard police uniform, only instead of the signature NYPD; these were emblazoned with AMNYD, Anti-Magic New York Division. Arthur glanced at Merlin, who appeared stiff as he jerked his head to their left, pointing out a desk labeled ‘Visitors’.

There was a short line, one that took seemingly seconds to get through, although in reality it was probably much longer. Heart pounding ferociously, Arthur approached the cardigan-wearing middle-aged woman behind the counter, Merlin a step behind.

The moment of truth – or at least something like it.

Arthur cleared his throat and the lady looked up at him through horn-rimmed spectacles, a vaguely bored expression adorning her face.

Okay. So their entrance into the building hadn’t set off any blaring alarms that screamed “Magic users! Magic users!”

Not that Arthur had been worrying about that.

“Arthur Pendragon and Gwaine Macken,” his voice took on an authoritative tone. “We have a meeting with A. Aredian at eight o’clock.”

“One moment, sir,” the woman’s voice cracked from the early morning stupor as she diverted her eyes from his, tapping away at her keyboard for a moment. “He’s expecting you. I’ll send you up in his personal elevator – just a security measure, Mr. Pendragon, certainly you understand.”

Arthur tried his hardest not to react; he didn’t even glance at Merlin, even though his body and mind were screaming in overwhelming panic. What kind of security was it? Could it detect magical disguises? Or even magic itself?

Suddenly, his theory about blaring alarms didn’t seem so far-fetched anymore.

“Not a problem,” he answered instead, voice carefully controlled so as not to betray anything of importance.

“There’s a hallway just to your right,” she said, pointing with manicured fingers. Arthur turned; the hall she gestured to was much less crowded than the others that led out of the lobby area. Apparently Aredian not only merited his own elevator, but an entire hallway as well. He wondered if the man had an entire floor to himself. It wouldn’t be a surprise. “Elevator is directly to your left once you enter. Only goes up to the one floor.”

“Thank you,” Arthur replied, a curt nod following the statement. Folders clutched tight in his hands, he didn’t look back until he had meandered around the desk and into the hallway, taking it on faith that Merlin was just behind him.

He was. A hand on his shoulder made him jump, but turning to see Merlin – well, Gwaine, but still Merlin – staring at him was a bit of relief. Before he could open his mouth, Merlin shook his head ever so slight, his eyes stormy, silently communicating a message – _Don’t talk._

Arthur hadn’t even thought of that; even if they didn’t have methods for detecting magic, cameras and voice recorders would work just as well. It was amazing the conclusions his mind could jump to, meanwhile forgetting the simplest, subtlest, and possibly most dangerous things of all.

Arthur, hoping his eyes conveyed his understanding of the warning, hurriedly strode over to the elevator ready and waiting for them for board. It looked ordinary enough, but Arthur knew that anything could be the case, especially with the ‘extra security measures’ the receptionist had alluded to.

He pressed the up button, beating Merlin to it, just in case there was some kind of alert when a sorcerer laid a hand on it.

Well, if that was the case, they were pretty much fucked no matter what they did, but Arthur was trying not to let his brain go there.

Merlin’s glance at him was unreadable and Arthur didn’t have time to fathom it out, for the elevator dinged a second later, doors sliding open seamlessly, revealing a wooden interior that matched the rest of the building perfectly.

Arthur, heart in his throat, took a hopefully confident step inside.

There was nothing to suggest he was inside something other than an ordinary elevator. Merlin, now inside the small box as well, gave no sign that he noticed anything either, just a simple nod and a gesture toward the panel where Arthur had just pressed the only button there.

They rode up in silence, and Arthur determinedly did not make any eye contact with his cohort, choosing instead to study the tiles on the floor. He didn’t want to give anything away accidentally.

Chancing a glance, he saw Merlin was standing erect, very still, jaw locked as if he was fighting against something. Arthur was tempted to ask if he was alright, but knew that would only draw unnecessary attention to any of the cameras that could be surveying them.

He didn’t have to dwell on the matter for too long, however, for the elevator dinged a moment later, doors sliding open slowly and almost ominously, as if daring them to move further inside.

Arthur didn’t even look at Merlin this time, just strode through the doors purposefully, like a man on a mission, nothing to hide and nothing to lose.

That didn’t change the fact that he was mentally freaking out, though.

Merlin followed him, and Arthur could tell he was slightly more hesitant. He hoped that the tension would evaporate soon, though, because he didn’t think he could cover for them if Merlin fucked up.

The room they entered into was a waiting area of some sort, with a plush purple couch pushed against one end of a sparse white room, a potted plant at its side. Otherwise, it was blank except for the back wall, which wasn’t really a wall at all. It was a series of windows that gave a view into a real office, one with a long mahogany desk that faced them, two chairs facing it, and a man that was striding to the door that separated the two rooms, his hand on the doorknob.

Arthur took the moment to check on Merlin, who had stepped up to stand beside him. He didn’t look great, his face even paler than it was in his normal body, but it wasn’t enough of a change to draw suspicion about him.

The man stepped out of his office and into the waiting room without preamble. His was probably in his late forties, maybe early fifties, with sandy blonde hair and a large build. Aredian, Arthur presumed. He was proved correct when the man introduced himself in a gravelly voice.

“Arthur Pendragon,” he said, coming forward to shake Arthur’s hand, which he gripped firmly, Arthur following his lead. “A pleasure, surely. I know your father. My name is Alfonso Aredian.”

_I know,_ Arthur was tempted to say, but did not. Instead, in a much more respectful tone, he said “Yes, I’ve heard my father praise you on many occasions. It’s a pleasure to meet you as well.”

Aredian nodded, clearly pleased at the imaginary compliment from Uther, before turning to Merlin. “And Gwaine Macken. You’ve paid our Headquarters here a few visits before, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” Merlin replied, voice firm as he shook the man’s hand. “I’m sorry to say I haven’t met you before, but when Mr. Pendragon here contacted me about his predicament, I had the feeling we would finally get an introduction.”

“Well, it’s good to put a face to the name,” Aredian’s words were pleasant, but his voice conveyed that it was not good at all. Not even in the slightest. “Won’t the two of you come inside? We can get down to business.”

“Thank you,” Arthur said cordial as could be, following the older man into the office, Merlin a step behind. They had made it through the first barrier, but there were still so many things that had the possibility of going wrong.

Aredian swept himself dramatically behind his desk, leaving Arthur and Merlin to find their way to the two, wooden, hard-backed chairs facing him. Arthur slid into the one on the far left, letting his briefcase thud to the ground between him and the chair where Merlin had taken a seat.

“So,” Aredian drew the word out. “I understand you’re here about one of our captured sorcerers?” He glanced down at an open file on his desk. “A… Freya Brook?”

“Yes, that’s right, sir,” Arthur said smoothly, tossing in the term of respect in the hope of playing up the man’s arrogance, of which he was certain was abundant. “I have reason to believe that she may be involved with my sister, Morgana Pendragon.”

Aredian raised a scrutinizing eyebrow. “Your sister?”

“Surely you know that my sister is a sorceress,” Arthur said, hating himself as he spat out ‘sorceress’ with derision, determinedly avoiding Merlin’s eye as he did so. “It caused quite a scandal a few years ago.”

“Yes, I was aware,” Aredian was not to be moved. “Why do you think she and Brook have a connection? They’re both British, but surely that isn’t enough information to base a claim on.”

His tone had taken on a decidedly patronizing tone, as if speaking to a young child who had decided to play detective for the day. Arthur’s blood boiled, but he kept his smile present. “I’ve been gathering information on Morgana for quite a while, and in my research on her whereabouts, I’ve found this picture, taken here in the city.” He passed the picture from the file in his hand across the desk and into Aredian’s, who took, surveying it with a raised eyebrow. “As you can see, it does appear to be Brook with her there.”

“So it does,” Aredian betrayed nothing in his tone, only mild interest. “Where did you say you came into possession of this?”

“A security camera,” Arthur recalled their cover story. “From a department store here in New York. I’m not sure how the two could be so careless as to be caught on camera, but then again, no one ever claimed sorcerers to have any common sense.”

This jibe was a common one toward magic users, one Arthur had used dozens of times before, but he felt particularly guilty about it seeing as Merlin was right next to him, hearing his every word. Still, Aredian seemed satisfied by the comment, as he chuckled slightly while peering closer at the picture.

Arthur took this opportunity to dart his eyes across at Merlin, whose face was just as stoic and emotionless as Aredian’s. A good thing, Arthur decided, even though he wished he could tell what the other man was thinking. He seemed to be sweating a bit, if the dots of perspiration on his forehead were anything to go by, but that would be excusable for anyone in this situation.

Aredian made people nervous.

“If you would permit it, I would like to have Freya Brook transported to a facility in London for extensive questioning,” Arthur filled the brief silence, silently praying for any form of luck that the gods could grant him with. “I’m currently attempting to have my sister found and captured, and this is the closest link to her that I have discovered thus far in my studying of her whereabouts.”

“We are still determining whether Ms. Brook is in need of the execution process,” Aredian seemed unsurprised by his request, but a cruel smirk twisted onto his features, as if he knew he had Arthur had his mercy and was going use it to his advantage.

“We can continue the research on our own terms,” Arthur took another stab, as another idea occurred to him. “Brook is from the UK, after all. We might be privy to further information where you would run into roadblocks.”

“You make interesting points,” Aredian’s smile was still disturbing. Arthur shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Merlin, apparently, took this as his moment to jump in.

“We understand that this is no easy decision,” he said, voice the epitome of calm and controlled. Damn, he was a good actor. “After all, the sorceress should be executed as soon as possible for her crimes, should there be any. But the information she could provide may lead my client not only to find his traitorous sister, but to other magic users as well. She escaped Vickers, didn’t she? That’s hundreds of sorcerers that she’s connected to. It’s only right for her to be questioned by Uther Pendragon himself.”

Arthur was almost shocked at Merlin’s gamble; if their plan failed, surely all of these points would be addressed in torture sessions with the girl. Still, he held his breath as he waited for Aredian’s answer.

“I may need some time to consider this,” Aredian said after a moment, the smirk gone from his face, a more somber appearance in its place. “Return at this time next week. I must give great consideration to this decision.”

“Of course,” Merlin took this as a cue to stand, and Arthur followed suit, bringing his briefcase up with him. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Aredian. I do hope you’ll come to see my client’s point of view, but your choice shall be respected nonetheless.”

After two handshakes and cordial goodbyes, Arthur was out of the claustrophobic office and into the claustrophobic elevator, Merlin by his side. Neither of them even so much as looked at one another on the short trip back to the ground floor, not wanting to risk it. Arthur hoped that their exit of the building would be swift so that they could finally talk freely.

But as soon as they got out of the still crowded, clustered atrium and onto the streets, Merlin took off at top speed down the sidewalk, stumbling slightly as if he had drunk too many pints.

 Arthur, concerned, took off after him, but Merlin disappeared down a side street before he could match his pace.

“Merlin – _Merlin_?” Arthur rounded the corner hurriedly to see Merlin, the real Merlin, with his skinny frame and dark hair, his disguise entirely gone, on his knees just off of the main street, heaving his guts out in disgusting patches of orange and green.

“Sorry,” Merlin heaved out, his voice gravelly once more as he coughed again, spewing out a few more colors of the rainbow. Arthur put his suit sleeve up to his nose to block the smell as he leaned against the brick wall, keeping Merlin from being seen by the general public.

“What’s the matter?” Arthur asked as Merlin stood up, leaning against the wall to support himself. His suit didn’t fit quite right now; it was too large at the middle and too short on the sleeves. Still, he was much more attractive this way than he had been in disguise. Arthur tried not to think about how he was judging a man’s appearance based on how he looked when he had just gotten sick right in front of him, and still thought he was gorgeous, because that train of thought never led anywhere good.

“Aredian had something in his office,” Merlin responded, tilting his head backward as his breathing returned to semi-normal. “A charm or a talisman. Something that I’m sure he thought could identify magic users. Well, it certainly makes us sick.”

Merlin followed his statement with a humorless chuckle and Arthur stared. “You were feeling ill the whole time?”

“Was it noticeable?” Merlin asked, a crease appearing in his forehead. “God, I’m so sorry if it was. I was trying to get us out of there quickly, make sure I couldn’t give anything away. I’m not sure how much longer I could have kept it up.”

“No, not at all,” Arthur shook his head, a bit incredulous. “I couldn’t tell a thing. I thought you were perfectly fine.”

“Good,” Merlin grinned lazily over at him, his breath still on the heavy side. “It worked.”

“Next week I’ll go alone,” Arthur began, but Merlin shook his head emphatically.

“No way,” he said. “You’ve got to have someone with you in case things go wrong. I’m not letting you go in there alone.”

“It’s no question of _letting_ ,” Arthur began to fashion a snarky response, but trailed off before he could finish it. He was more touched than anything, after all, that Merlin would be willing to go through another bout of that to keep Arthur safe. It was almost like having a friend. A good friend, one who would stick by you no matter what happened.

And he had only known Merlin a day.

If anyone had told him last week that within this short time span, he would reunite with his sister, go against every single one of his father’s principles, and befriend a sorcerer, he would have laughed himself silly at such a ridiculous notion.

It was amazing how quickly circumstances changed.

* * *

 

Merlin didn’t resume his disguise as they headed back to the base, he was still unsteady on his feet from simply walking down the street, and Arthur didn’t expect him to be able to accomplish complicated magic in this state.

Instead, he let Merlin lean on his shoulder, one arm hooked around waist as they stumbled down the street together. They had caught the Subway at one point, but the last few blocks required their feet.

“Thanks,” Merlin said into Arthur’s shoulder as they merited a couple of glances from passerby. Ten in the morning was a bit early to be drunk or high, after all, but perhaps they thought Merlin was a university student of something. He looked like he could be a graduate student, maybe, or freshly graduated. Arthur didn’t actually know how old he was.

“No problem,” Arthur said, holding tighter. “Do you know what kind of – what it was in there?”

Merlin gave the street a couple of furtive glances, but it was busy enough that no one paid a grain of attention to the two men half-leaning against the Starbucks door. “Most likely iron, but it must have been enhanced somehow to get this result.”

Arthur, of course, knew that iron handcuffs were the only way to restrain magic users. Every one of their prisons had been coated in iron. It was what made Emrys’s break-out of Vickers such worldwide news. No one had ever heard of a sorcerer breaking out of iron restraints.

“I’m sorry,” he replied, honestly feeling guilty, which made no sense whatsoever. Merlin would have been there in Aredian’s office today even if Arthur hadn’t. Still, he felt bad about the results of the day, but he couldn’t pinpoint exactly why. But he definitely didn’t like seeing Merlin hurt.

“Not your fault,” Merlin said. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll be fine. Just get me back to – Oh, _shit._ ”

“What?” Arthur glanced around wildly, expecting to see Aredian, along with a horde of anti-magic forces, rampaging after them with iron bullets and flaming torches. But Merlin was looking over across the street, at a simple park bench in a small square with a fountain shooting up random spurts of water, separating two sets of shops on either side of it.

“Nimueh,” Merlin responded darkly, glaring at the bench with a fury in his eyes that Arthur hadn’t seen before, making him uneasy and, if he was honest, a bit scared.

“I’m going to need an explanation here,” Arthur waited a second before speaking. “What’s a Nimueh?”

“Who,” Merlin’s hands clenched into fists as he held tighter to Arthur’s side, leaning much more into him, and Arthur made sure his grip was good. “She’s a sorceress here in the city, leader of a gang that has a base over by Grand Central. She’s horrible, absolutely horrible. And she wants to meet.”

“How can you tell?” Arthur asked, forehead creasing in confusion.

“The bench,” Merlin nodded over in the direction of the square and to the inconspicuous and definitely not threatening park bench. “It has her magical signature all over it. All sorcerers have it, it’s how we identify others’ magic, and magic used for good from that used for evil intent.”

“That’s useful,” Arthur raised an eyebrow. He’d never heard of such a concept before, but then again, the only sorcerer he had ever spent any time with was an inexperienced Morgana, so it wasn’t like he was an expert on the subject.

“Very,” Merlin agreed. “But this time she’s left a message for us. For me. She wants to meet, Thursday at our usual place. Shit. She’s probably got a scout here looking, but I can’t sense anyone’s presence right now. That means she’s seen _you._ Dammit, dammit, dammit.”

“She knows I’m here?” Arthur’s heart constricted with fear. “Will she recognize me?”

“Hard to say,” Merlin shook his head. “Come on, we have to get over there.”

Arthur helped Merlin hobble across the street as he explained. “Even if she doesn’t know you’re Arthur Pendragon, she’ll still be aware of someone else’s association with us. We have…The politics between magic users in the city are complicated. We’re kind of hated by all of the factions because we took in Lance and Gwen. Most sorcerers hate people that don’t have magic. Almost everyone is looking for an excuse to take us out, Nimueh especially. She loathes us, me more than most.”

“Why you?”

“I may or may not have lit her on fire at one point,” Merlin admitted and Arthur glanced down at him incredulously. “It wasn’t my fault! She provoked me! She poisoned me, so I’d say we’re even. Anyway, if she learns we’re keeping any secrets from her, from the magical community, she’ll try to take us out. And we really can’t afford that right now, which means you’ll most likely have to come to our meeting.”

“What?” Arthur gaped. This had never been a part of the plan, Morgana hadn’t even thought to inform him that he wouldn’t just be facing the Anti-Magic Forces but other magic users as well.

“We can disguise you, just make them think we picked you up like we did Lance and Gwen, that we’re protecting you,” Merlin reassured him quietly as they headed up onto the curb. Arthur would have been concerned about others overhearing their conversation, but the crowds just seemed to slide on straight by them with only a few sideways glances.

When Arthur opened his mouth to protest, Merlin shook his head, eyes downcast. “I’m sorry, Arthur. I’d do anything to keep you away from her, but this would mean civil war.”

Arthur considered his options for a moment. He could point blank refuse – But then be forced to suffer the consequences of his sister and her loved ones, not to mention Merlin, going through a horrible experience that he couldn’t let happen. But then again, being completely surrounded by magic users, evil ones that would hurt him within a second, was not on his bucket list.

“I’ll go,” he said decisively as he and Merlin reached this alleged park bench. “I can go with you. I’ll survive.”

“Thank you,” Merlin’s eyes were bright as he let go of Arthur’s side, clasping his hand tightly, but only for a second. A shiver still ran down Arthur’s spine, though. “Thank you so much. For everything. I can’t tell you how much everything you’re doing means to us. To me.”

“I – I just don’t want to see anyone get hurt,” Arthur shifted uncomfortably at the compliment. He wasn’t used to this level of praise, let alone from someone who was supposed to be his sworn enemy. “I just want everyone to be equal, but since I know that I can’t make that happen, I should try to help in any way possible. Especially since I haven’t done anything to help…at all before.”

“You haven’t done anything to help?” Merlin let out a barking laugh. “Arthur, you kept Morgana safe from your father, from society, for _years_. That’s something, something that matters quite a bit.”

Arthur would have replied, but Merlin’s had circled the bench, putting both hands on the back of it, pressing down lightly. Arthur gave the crowded street a panicked look, but whatever Merlin did wasn’t visible to human eyes. He stumbled back into Arthur a second later, nearly collapsing against him, and Arthur held him upright as best he could. He was heavier than he appeared.

“She knows I was here now,” Merlin’s face was pale and drawn, his voice hoarse. “Come on, let’s get home. I have just enough juice left to get us through the entryway.”

* * *

 

It was a very near thing. Merlin, with Arthur holding him semi-upright, had managed to get them through the doorway, but collapsed onto the ground the second the tightening, squeezing passage let them out.

Arthur, now on his third time, had only stumbled slightly, and immediately pulled Merlin up onto his feet, helped by Lancelot, who appeared at Merlin’s other side in an instant. Arthur couldn’t think about where he had come from, he was only grateful for the help.

“What happened?” Lancelot asked as he helped Arthur cart the unconscious Merlin over to lay him on the navy blue couch in the sitting room. It was only when Gwen, Morgana, and Kara jumped off of it that Arthur realized the rest of their cohorts were all seated in the room, apparently waiting for his and Merlin’s return.

“Were you caught?” Kara’s voice was sharper and more accusatory than Lancelot’s earnest concern. Gwen put an arm on her shoulder as if to warn her, but Kara shook it off.

“Is he alright?” Mordred’s response was the one Arthur had been waiting for, as he and Gaius knelt down next to Merlin’s form flopped across the furniture.

“He’s fine, I think,” Arthur said. “There was iron or something in Aredian’s office that made him sick.”

Morgana put a hand over her mouth and grasped Gwen’s arm tightly, but Arthur sank into the only other open chair, closing his eyes, suddenly exhausted despite the overabundance of sleep he’d received the night before.

“We made it out alright, though,” he continued on, hoping he didn’t sound as tired as he felt. “Aredian said he needs to think about the offer. We’re going back next week. And then on the way home Merlin found a message from – Nimueh, isn’t it? – And we’re meeting her on Thursday.”

“ _We’re_ –” Arthur wasn’t lucid enough to register whose voice that was, but he responded nonetheless.

“Apparently I have to go along because she’s already seen me, and if I didn’t, there’ll be civil war,” he said. “Can I just – have a second, please?”

“Of course,” said a voice Arthur was nearly certain was Gaius’s. “Everyone, I’ll have to ask you to leave. Arthur needs rest and Merlin needs medical attention.”

Arthur wanted to make some comment about thanks, but he could already hear Gwen replying and saying she’d get something to ease pain or…well; everything kind of vanished after that as he dozed off into fitful sleep.

* * *

 

When Arthur awoke nearly an hour later, Merlin was on one side of him, awake and in an upright position, though still looking pale and like he was going to be sick any moment, Morgana on the other, gazing at him with a determined gleam in her eyes.

“Merlin…” Arthur pushed himself into an upright position as he was greeted with a small smile. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Merlin still looked as if he would be sick any moment, but at least he wasn’t as pale and there was no obvious sign of throwing up even more of his breakfast. “What about you?”

“Me? I’m fine,” Arthur scoffed off the concern. “I was just tired.”

“Thank you,” Morgana interrupted whatever Merlin had opened his mouth to say. “Thank you, Arthur.”

Arthur grinned over at his sister, whose sour expression seemed to convey the absolute pain that the statement had brought her to say out loud. She had never liked having to thank anyone for anything, hated swallowing even a tiny bit of her pride.

“Good to know those words can exit your mouth,” Arthur teased lightly, only to be responded to with a glare.

“I’m going upstairs,” she declared, standing up. “I was just going to make sure you weren’t dying in your sleep or anything. One of you can yell if there’s something you need.”

“I’m not incapable!” Arthur shouted after her retreating figure, but she just ignored him. Merlin, however, chuckled under his breath.

Arthur returned his attention back to his new friend at the sound. “Are you sure that there’s no lasting damage?”

“Absolutely,” Merlin nodded solemnly. “Gwen ran tests and everything. I’m just not supposed to strain myself for a couple of days. They should know that telling me to take things easy is pretty much a guarantee that I’m going to attempt world domination or something on that scale.”

Arthur must have looked alarmed, for Merlin corrected himself hurriedly. “Not that I would or anything! Honestly, Arthur, I’m not Nimueh. I don’t actually mean it.”

“I knew that,” Arthur said, and it was the truth. Barely twenty-four hours was not enough time to know a person, but he really did feel like he knew Merlin. Going through life-changing experiences seemed to accomplish that.

“Good,” Merlin nodded. He seemed like he was going to open his mouth to continue on, but he was interrupted by the sight of Kilgharrah, who had wormed his way between the couch and Arthur’s chair, jumping up on Arthur’s lap in the next second.

“Oof!” Arthur cried as the cat, or rather, small tiger, plopped himself down on Arthur’s legs, curling up so that Arthur couldn’t move if he wanted to.

“Bad Kilgharrah,” Merlin chided from the couch, shaking a finger at the cat. “You do know Arthur can put you in the washing machine, too, right? I’m not alone in recognizing your pure evil anymore.”

Arthur flicked one of Kilgharrah’s ears and didn’t even merit a reaction. Merlin groaned loudly at the creature.

“I think he likes you, Arthur,” Merlin leaned his head backwards, shaking it. “How does that happen? I’ve been with him for three years now and he still plows me over every thirty seconds. But he just wants to cuddle with you.”

“Maybe he’d like you more if the washing machine wasn’t such an important factor in your relationship,” Arthur found himself laughing at Merlin’s dramatizing of the situation.

“But the washing machine is our special thing!” Merlin protested. “Some couples have their own songs. And since Kilgharrah’s the closest thing I’ve had to a boyfriend in years, we need something special that proclaims our love for one another. Hence the washing machine.”

“Great analogy, comparing romance to causing your pet bodily harm,” Arthur grinned, but he couldn’t help hearing that the word boyfriend was used, not girlfriend. That was…that was interesting. He wondered if Morgana had told any of her friends here of his sexuality, but then chided himself for being so self-centered. How the hell would that have come up in conversation?

Still, as he chuckled at Merlin’s comment, he couldn’t help but hope that Merlin knew that he had the potential of being interested in him.

That was a bit scary, being attracted to a magic user, but Arthur was coming to accept that fact that his life would not be going according to plan even slightly from here on out. 


End file.
